


Charming, I'm sure

by Sevynlira



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crowley is not a snake. Only snakey, Hypnotism, Love, Lust, M/M, No beta - we die like man shaped beings, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevynlira/pseuds/Sevynlira
Summary: Aziraphale has a new trick up his sleeve! Snake charming is just that :)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 67





	Charming, I'm sure

"Aziraphale. Oh. No. C'mon. Really? Please. Don't. Why with the magic?" Crowley complains as the angel drags a wicker basket onto the patterned rug where they both have been lounging and swigging soma for longer than Crowley has been keeping track. 

The poor viper in the basket gets the shock of it's noodley life when the lid is opened and he is confronted with the oldest snake in creation. It's all very unfair to the poor snake and so he lodges a very firm protest by coiling himself firmly in the bottom of the basket and refusing to budge. 

Aziraphale is not at all discouraged by the recalcitrant serpent and flourishes a reed pipe from the ether with all the grand pomposity it deserves. Crowley rolls his eyes.

The angel had been ever so delighted to watch the snake charmers and their lovely shining vipers perform in the city square. What a thrilling idea! He had paid such close attention he might have accidentally healed the performer's back. And a few cancers in the crowd. And well. Somebody will eventually notice they aren't quite so nearsighted. But what a clever show! The music thrilling and building and the snake just swaying and twisting. Scales in the sun. Beautiful.

So of course he is going to show Crowley!

His performance partner isn't nearly as thrilled. The snake looks like he is asleep. Aziraphale sharpens the music and bobs the end of the pipe insistently. The snake is having none of it. Slowly even the excited angel must admit defeat and so he chances a glance at Crowley to see what outraged and pained grimaces he must be making.

He is startled to find a totally transfixed look on Crowley’s face. His eyes have shifted all the way to blown wide irises. The flush of soma in his cheeks and the absolute attention almost feels like a threat. Until Aziraphale moves the reed pipe. Crowley’s head falls back slightly and his shoulders roll in one long sinuous wave. Surely he didn’t! But. He did. Crowley is totally transfixed and focused on every slow wave of the pipe. The bright sun of the city catches the glint of sweat outlining Crowley’s jaw and the soma sweeps in to take them both to the dizzying realm of fantasy. 

When Aziraphale comes to himself again, the reed pipe is smushed against his cheek on the pile of lounging pillows and the radiant dozy sun has already made it’s exit. It had to have been the drugs. Surely. He had imagined the whole thing. Of course. Silly notion. Charming a demon! Ha! 

He is reluctant to show Crowley the snake charming bit he learned from the street market though. Out of an abundance of caution really. He keeps picturing the sinuous sway of Crowley tipping his head and the way his eyes just looked so heavy. Soma. That is dangerous stuff, really. 

Of course the topic comes up again. Every topic does. When you are friends with someone for thousands of years. His fingers start flexing in that excited way that Crowley has learned to mean, “Oh just you wait. I will show you the best trick.” to which he firmly protests. “Snake charming isn’t REAL angel. Those poor snakes are abused and mistreated and drugged or have their mouths sewn shut or fangs taken out. It's barbaric! Really.” 

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale mourns. “Are you quite sure?” He asks in a disappointed tone. 

“Yes, I’m quite sure, angel. Those snakes are being tormented into responding with aggression. I know snakes and I know torment.” 

“Oh. But.” the angel stops. “I have done it before.” He says with certainty, though his brow is now wrinkled with confusion. Had he? Or had that been part of the soma as well? There isn’t any way to really know.

“Ah, well. The snake was probably just humoring you. You know how you get, angel. With the..” Crowley makes a noise to finish the sentence and gestures. “Eyes and the face. And things.” 

Aziraphale squints at Crowley. Is he blushing? 

“Never mind.” the demon backtracks and takes a long sip of wine to hide his face.

“Well, that is settled then! A demonstrrrrration!” Aziraphale sweeps to his feet and rolls his Rrrr’s in a sufficiently dramatic tone” 

“Don’t do that.” Crowley begs.

Out comes the wicker basket. Out comes a rather startled snake. This one just as disgruntled at the disruption to his day as the first had been. Aziraphale tempts the snake with the softest of cozying tones. He swooshes the pipe. He flourishes and weaves. 

The snake is not the least bit interested in his antics. So much for snakes humoring him! Why is it that human magic always seems to go sideways!? His frustration causes a shrill honk to spill from the pipe and he is almost startled into dropping it when Crowley falls right off the couch! 

To be fair, he had only been marginally approximating the notion of sitting on it in the first place. The chair was not exactly to blame for Crowley’s total misunderstanding of gravity. But he had never fallen before! Fallen and now. Now. Slinking. Crawling. With the sinuous twist in his hips and shoulders. He was all predatory stalk and slink as he crawled right up to the edge of the carpet where Aziraphale sits in front of the basket.

Those bright eyes. Glowing they are. No way to miss the inhuman spill of flame inside them at this distance. Close. This. Is not soma. Not at all. Crowley is kneeling and arching his back and arms in the slowest mirror of the song that Aziraphale has almost forgotten he is making. Dancing. Slow. Perfectly drawing all that music right into the room with his own demonic magic. Lust rises with the cant of his hips. How is he even moving those hips like that?

It isn’t until Crowley starts shedding clothes that Aziraphale realizes that the temperature has been skyrocketing and Crowley has a fine sheen of sweat on his face. And oh lord! He really should stop. 

Abruptly, Aziraphale almost throws the pipe away from himself, startling the unwitting witness to their shenanigans. How embarrassing! The angel’s face feels like it has been lit by a match. He dares to look toward Crowley and finds him simply arranging himself to sit on the floor like he probably has done a million times. Ah. Well. It seems to have some sort of amnesiac effect as well! Interesting.

No! It is MOST certainly NOT interesting. To go around charming Crowley willy nilly like that. And. All that demonic power rising up. Was. NOT most certainly NOT interesting.

Of course, the more he tries to not think about the things that most certainly aren’t interesting the more he can’t help himself. He finds some literature. He reads. He makes a few notes. He tries to make his own observations. In his personal notebook. Not the one on the desk. No. It was far too. Intimate. He wouldn’t risk such sensitive knowledge about his nemesis getting into the wrong sort of hands. Having it all written down does soothe some of his curiosity, but he does find himself fondly reading over the recollection as if he was some human who needed reminding of things. Like that. Like the blushing flush of pale shoulders when Crowley had peeled his shirt to one side. 

He had queried the demon about that night in some round about fashion until Crowley had even noticed the small hole in the events of the evening. “Ah. Weren’t you going to show me some magic or something?” He asks with only a hint of curiosity.

“With you mocking me for it!?” Aziraphale protests with an offended tug at his lapels. 

“Aw angel. It is bloody awful. I am doing you a favor.” the demon insists and the conversation winds its way toward more familiar ground. It’s not like him. Not like Crowley at all to go around any notion he was curious about. He is seemingly devoid of it. On this one matter. On this hole in the timeline. Interesting.

Just as the entire thing is about to eat Aziraphale alive with curiosity, too many things happen and there is the raising of the antichrist to consider, armageddon to foil. Just enough stuff to keep an angel busy enough not to wonder what in the world it means to charm a serpent.  
That is, until “The Incident”. They were quite sure the coast was clear! Both heaven and hell off their backs. Of course, demons aren’t exactly going to behave. Play nicely. Stick to the rules. Those who manage to slither and crawl their way up top aren’t the type. And they run in packs. It’s all well and good to be facing them with a plan and a notion of the outcome. These demons were spoiling for a fight. They had been promised one. Word was going around that there was a defenseless angel in London. One without the protection of heaven. The hosts hadn’t been so sloppy as to let it slip that he had dabbled in hellfire. That could tarnish reputations. Only that he had been cut loose. These fucks wanted a brawl with the smug pretty bastards and weren’t going to leave without it. They only got a warning of mere hours before Crowley was slamming into the bookstore. 

“There are too many, Aziraphale. It's an entire legion. I can’t hold them off. Not for long. We will fight. Angel, we should have left. Fuck.” He frets and paces and grabs Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Frantically, the angel tracks through all of their options. Wait. If Crowley simply drowns out all signs of him? Hiding. It seems workable. “Crowley. I need you to be more demonic and let all that temperature come up. Just. Bring up the demoney- bits.” he says awkwardly.

The demon in question stares at him like he has grown a third head. “What are you on about? I can’t get any more ME than I am. More demon-ey? Is that even a thing?” 

“You know. The room gets warm and your eyes go all” Aziraphale makes a little explodey gesture with his hands. 

“No. I have no idea what you are talking about” he deadpans.

“Oh.” the Angel frets. “Well, when you do that, the entire block and this room and everything just gets more. Demonic. It is like a blanket effect. You know, all those. Temptations.” Aziraphale trails off. “I think.” He pauses and nods. “I think it would hide me. It should work.”

“Well since I have no idea what you are talking about, I think that option is right out, yes?” Crowley cracks back in frustration and anger.

“Well.” the angel hedges.

“What?” Crowley suddenly notices that the angel is doing that thing he does. The one where he is terribly sure of a solution that isn’t exactly angelic. “What is it Aziraphale? It can’t be worse than you discorporating right now.”

“I can make you do it. With a little nudge. I have done it twice I think.” Crowley squints at the squirming angel.

“Ok, you are going to tell me all about that later. We don’t have time. Just do it.”  
Aziraphale flexes his fingers. 

Crowley looks like he is about to discorporate from sheer disbelief at this ridiculous magic act routine. If he wasn’t trying to save the angel’s life he would strangle him. 

Out comes the basket. 

Out comes the viper. Totally and utterly aghast that this could happen TWICE in his noodly lifetime. Aziraphale figured it would be unfair to pick on another snake and for all he knows this snake was part of the entire thing! At least this one will have seen it all before. He won’t have another snake out there smirking about his music abilities.

Aziraphale takes in a holy breath, and this time, he watches Crowley from the very first soft note. There, those eyes. Lighting from behind. Softening. And all of the tight jitter of Crowley melting into something so much softer. His lips part. The room heats. Something dark and wicked leaps to attention. Temptation. Lust. All of it rolling off the demon like a second skin. He rolls his head against his shoulder. Hips softly beginning to sway. As if he is dancing to a private song. Something only he can hear. In some secret place. He sways like he is holding a private joy there. Like a lover thinking about something sweet. Closing the door after a date and swaying for a moment with that sensual knowledge. 

Then he is raising his eyes. Catching Aziraphale’s gaze and smiling. An actual wide happy smile. His face transforms. Free of all the stress and silence that has been kept between them. Open as a child. Hoping and loving and drawing the angel into the heavy hot press of his own lust. Because this is what Aziraphale has wanted. Crowley free of the tyranny. That slow rolling swivel of hips and inviting arch of his throat is secondary to the carefree look in his face. 

The demonic flex of lust and shame and greed blankets the room and nothing short of an actual archangel could have possibly found an angel in the middle of all that. Especially one that is actively participating in the act of giving in, just a little bit, to all that gorgeous view. Crowley dances to Aziraphale’s tune in every way he can. By moving his body. And more than that, he opens wide for the angel. Showing himself. Dragging every ounce of himself to the surface. Hiding nothing and joyfully accepting the adoration and lust that Aziraphale is blasting right back at him. The demon feeds in the way of his kind. Licking his lips at the feast. Sucking down the power like he had been starved for that taste. That particular brand of angelic desire. Hypnotized and incapable of accessing any of his reluctance or fear, Crowley moves like sex. He moves like hunger. Aziraphale feels fat tears well in his eyes. He is speechless. This Crowley would have existed before the fall. This exuberant bright heart. Wild and so powerful. 

The heat in the room has reached desert temperature and Aziraphale has had to make several adjustments to his corporation to not sweat buckets. Crowley has made no such adjustment, so the pink bloom of a flush is crawling up his chest and face. The clothes are falling off. Peeled away.  
A shivering crash makes Aziraphale jump in shock. Oh! He hadn’t been paying attention to the actual work at hand. Oh. They were probably here! Fuck. Reaching out with his senses, he tries gently to probe without alerting the legion that an angel is hidden here. There. Right at the edges he can feel a slightly oily texture. Yes. This isn’t Crowley. The music still climbs but Crowley has read another intention in his charmer, so those teeth, so white and sharp are bared. Crowley is crouched to defend. To protect. Oh! It is more than dancing then.

Aziraphale reigns his defensiveness and fear in. He can’t risk Crowley. They are both going to stay right here and let the legion slip on by in their search. Ok. He could do this. Just a few more minutes. The hypnotizing loop of Crowley gorging and looking like sex while he does it and Aziraphale shoving more and more lust at him to feed on, has been broken though. The last few minutes of this torturous wait has Crowley at turns turning to hug Aziraphale and snapping his teeth at the door. He is as fretful and mercurial as the angel is feeling. Of course. He can’t be anything else. He exists only as the thing Aziraphale is making him be. 

It was better when it was all lust and demonic hunger to be honest. It has edged into something Aziraphale is distinctly uncomfortable with. Part of the beauty of Crowley is his will. Indomitable and brilliant. This is like being left alone in a room with a cardboard cutout of Crowley. Well. Ok. A rather uninhibited and fucking intensely sexy and incredibly innocent Crowley. And he better stop thinking about that before they get started on the getting naked part again. 

The coast clears and Aziraphale slowly eases the melody down. Down. Crowley is pouring with sweat and looks completely exhausted. The angel quickly miracles him into his own bed (hardly used) and some soft flannel pajamas. Black with the most subtle of tartan accents. Stylish. 

Crowley swims back into consciousness with the floating lightness of air. So soft. Warm. Smells amazing. He is curled onto his side around something plush and fuzzy. What. The. Fuck. It is a nightmare. It has to be! Where is he? Immediately he goes stone still as a defense mechanism. Gather intel. Don’t let anyone know you are awake yet. Of course the hand that touches his hip makes him leap in the bed and scream in terror. He also might flail a bit. With a stuffed. Hippo. It's a STUFFED HIPPO. Aziraphale is scooted to the edge of the bed with enormous startled eyes. The bastard. If his corporation has a heart attack and dies, he is going to take out the price of replacement from that feathery hide of his. He can feel the edges of the sheet singeing with the heat of his scowl. The tilt of his head into a disapproving squint has dislodged something atop his head. A pompom. A fucking fluff ball. That is apparently attached to a sleeping cap. On his head. Aziraphale has put him in bed with a stuffed animal and flannel pajamas and a goddamn sleeping cap. The fucking indignity. Crowley growls. 

Aziraphale beams. Oh! Good! Crowley is back to himself. He isn’t still somehow caught in the hypnotism and seems quite himself. Oh. Such a dear face. All scrunched up and disapproving. His heart gives a little happy bump of joy. “Oh Crowley! Good morning!” He chirps with enthusiasm. 

There is quite a lot of explaining to do. In the end, Aziraphale is obliged to share the entire experience from his perspective because words really don’t cover what happened. Not really. When the demon surfaces from the tangle of their minds, his face is flaming almost as brightly as it had before. He hides his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder and the angel can’t help but reflexively arch his wings to curl around the demon. Crowley had been vulnerable. In every way. It isn’t an easy thing for a demon. Not even possible some would say. But as Crowley had posited, “perhaps the snake was humoring him”.

Perhaps in some ways, Crowley wanted to be given the opportunity to open and be free like that. Now still feeling the bright ache of remembered lust and joy, he is able to bite out some small admission to not minding it. I mean, they could figure it out. Could be useful. In a fight. Maybe. Neat trick. Probably a good idea to explore some more. The soft ache in his eyes says they will try again soon.

It is two days later when Crowley exclaims. “Seriously angel. You had a demon dancing on the end of your string. All lusty and ready to go AND YOU PUT ME IN PAJAMAS with a STUFFED HIPPO!” 

Aziraphale feels his entire being light up with amusement. “Of course dear, you certainly wouldn’t allow me to do that any other time. Might have been my last chance!” 

The pillow Crowley chucks at the angel misses but the bright ring of his laughter lands exactly where it should. Right in the heart of the charmer.


End file.
